Pure Angst

by Stephen Scarcliffe

  The previous night Goddard had gone straight to the boozer on the main street. This time he was going in the opposite direction, away from the bright cobbled streets lit up by the rail bridge. Instead he was venturing into the growing darkness of the night, with the Road Bridge beyond them in all its competing shades of grey.

  As Billy continued down the street, he suddenly found himself having to slow down to a crawl as Goddard pulled in at a grassy verge directly underneath the bridge. Billy pulled in behind another car just shy of the grass where Goddard had parked, and slowed to a halt. He stopped and stared as their target calmly exited his vehicle, quickly glanced left and right, and made for a stone staircase that appeared to lead up into nothingness.

  Billy and Jimmy looked at each other. They had been waiting agonisingly for their opportunity and now Goddard appeared to be presenting them with one that was perfect. Was it a trap? Had he been playing them all this time like the pair of amateurs Billy feared they might be? As the wheels began turning in Billy’s mind he slammed a leather clad hand on the dashboard to stop them in their tracks.

  The time for caution was over, it was time to get it done, and get the fuck out of there.

  Billy strode purposely across the grass, tightening his grip on the shotgun as Goddard disappeared into the nothingness. A heavy vehicle passed overhead shaking the bridge as it went, with little drops of water showering down.

  Billy’s senses were heightened, everything intensified. Even the cars sounded like trucks to him, and his heartbeat felt as heavy and loud as anything on that bridge. The staircase was steep and imposing. The smooth stone steps were wet, and covered in moss. Not ideal given the fact they had no idea what they were walking into, and if it was a trap they didn’t want to be sliding into it. At the top of the steps, Billy’s eyes quickly adjusted to take in a dirt track to the right that sprawled round into a small maze, with scores of jagged, angry looking branches tied together in bunches, marking the track. To the left was another path that led past a bunch of trees, appearing to wind round to the right underneath the bridge.

  The moment Billy’s chewing gum hit the wet stone in front of him, he heard talking coming from the left. He glanced round at Jimmy to see if he had heard it or whether it was just his mind playing tricks.

  “Hear that?”

  “Naw.

  “Come oan.”

  They emerged on the other side of the path to the sight of the road bridge’s massive arches lined up in front of them dominating the black sky, beneath which lay the dark, murky looking Forth.

  As they walked up the gravelly pathway towards the closest arch they passed a collapsed wall, with massive boulders lying all over the place and piles of black soot on the other side of them. The ground at the foot of the arch was covered in empty cans and fag ends, with the last ashes of a fire blowing about in the wind, remnants of a gathering. The Rail Bridge was now just a faint image in the distance, obscured by its partner, a line of trees and the derelict wasteland they were walking on.

  There was no sign of Goddard as they cautiously edged forward, and now Billy could feel the potential danger on all sides. They were boxed in, surrounded by overgrowth. Now all Billy could hear was the ominous whistling of the wind in the trees, as he slowed his pace, wondering if someone was luring them closer. There it was again, that whispering, except much closer this time. As they backed up behind the grainy stone arch, he heard heavy breathing. Billy looked at Jimmy and this time received a look of recognition in return. It was coming from the other side of the arch. Billy tightened his grip on the shotgun as he peered round the corner of the arch, wracked with screaming paranoia. He looked at Jimmy and motioned for him to take the other side.

  A young laddie fell backwards into the dirt covering his face with fear as they appeared from both sides with their shotguns aimed. Goddard froze, his eyes bulging with panic, before frantically trying to conceal the fact his fly was open.

  “You dirty bastard,” said Billy, as Goddard raised a hand in desperation.

  Billy shook his head, and gritted his teeth as Goddard panted for breath. “So. It was true then? That’ll make this a bit easier.”

  “Who sent ye?”

  “Doesnae matter who fuckin sent us does it? You’ve just been caught wae yer pants doon ya beasty bastard!” screamed Jimmy in anger.

  “It’s ma son! Awrite? It’s no how it looks! Colin tell thum. Come oan son.”

  Billy looked at the young lad as he crept to his feet and dusted some dirt from his trousers, school trousers at that. He looked at Billy and nodded his head, as he fiddled nervously with his hands.

  “See? Just out fer a walk that’s it! Nothin dodgy goin on here. Was jist takin a leak. When ye need tae go ye need tae go eh!”

  Billy looked back at the boy whose hate filled expression betrayed the pathetic protest of innocence Goddard was making as he stood there caught in the act.

  Billy knew it was true, he sensed it in the boy’s eyes. Reckoned the poor laddie had been suffering this unspeakable fate for years. Crawling into a corner in his room, squeezing his face between his legs, rocking back and forth, willing it to end. Praying for someone to save him. Longing for the day when he would be old enough to overpower the bastard and push him off a cliff, hit him in the head with something heavy, anything to make it stop. Billy could also see that defiance, that undying will to rise above it, shining through the hatred in his eyes. All those years and all those hammerings Billy had suffered week in week out. Smacked upside down, battered with that stick, lashed with a belt buckle. All those batterings multiplied by a thousand wouldn’t come anywhere near what this laddie had suffered.

  “Ah’ve got money. Take it all. Whatever they’re payin ye, I’ll double it, triple it even!”

  “Your own flesh an blood. Your own fuckin son of all people.” Billy tensed his grip, slugged him in the stomach, and then watched as he fell backwards into the arch with confusion in his eyes. He slumped to the deck clutching at the contents that were spilling from his stomach, looking round at his son, his mouth uttering something he didn’t have the strength to say. It looked like a sorry, but it was too little too late. Jimmy stepped out of the shadows, pointed the shotgun at his chest and blasted him into the dirt.

  Another car passed overhead as a train sounded in the distance from the Rail Bridge that no longer seemed so imposing. Billy had built the moment up in his mind so much, scared deep down that he wouldn’t have the minerals. Worried that he would prove the old man right, that he would be too weak. But as he looked down at Goddard’s limp, tangled up body, lying in front of the blood spattered arch he realised it hadn’t been that big a deal after all, taking a life. Certainly not this one.

  He turned to the son who wore an expression of pure relief and calm, clearly unfazed by it. The days of getting buggered underneath the bridge by this monster who called himself Dad were over.

  “You good wae this?” said Billy.

  “Yes.”

  “So when the police find the body, and start askin about?”

  “I was down by the water. Watching the boats come in.”

  “Good lad.” Billy pulled a wad of notes from his pocket, counted several out and offered them to him.

  The boy looked up at him and calmly shook his head before disappearing down the path and into the blackness.

  47

  Billy took a deep, laboured breath as he looked out onto the waters of Cramond, that were far calmer than his turbulent thoughts. The sun was setting with an incredible pink glow permeated by striking yellows and oranges that reflected in the shallow puddles scattering the sand. He focused his weary eyes on the sunset in a futile effort to ease the tension that had settled on his brain like a murky fog. Losing himself in reflection, or at least trying to, was a welcome rest from the events of the previous twenty-four hours. Had they left anything that could incriminate them? Had anyone seen them pull up or leave? Would the laddie keep his mouth shut? Images of father and son engaged
in an act so horrible – it was too much to bear.

  Billy had never been one for planning, he could never see far enough. He was all about making cash, living for the weekend, confronting danger head on, living at a hundred miles an hour whilst looking over his shoulder every step of the way. No wonder he needed a few eccies to cut loose and escape from time to time.

  Well, now everything had changed. If the revelation that he was to be a father wasn’t a watershed moment, the murder certainly was. He couldn’t risk spending his bairn’s upbringing behind bars. His luck would surely run out sooner or later. He didn’t want his child to have to dodge broken glass and used needles when he fell off his bike or tripped in the street. He wanted his bairn’s childhood to be so far removed from his own that a completely new brand of Wright was formed. One that was free of the anger and bitter residue of past generations.

  It was time to start planning an exit strategy.

  “Someone looks deep in thought.” Brian Clark dropped the bag on the ground as he took his seat on the wooden bench, pulled his knee-length cashmere closed, and quickly adjusted his specs.

  “What a sky eh?” said Clark.

  “Ah ken.”

  “So. Job done?”

  “Well, he’s no breathin.”

  “Good man. I won’t forget this favour in a hurry. It’s all there, the other twenty grand.”

  “You can keep that.”

  “Come again?”

  “It’s time tae expand. I want to quadruple the next batch. Take advantage of these yellow crowns you’ve got comin in.”

  “Gonna be the strongest pills on the market.”

  “Aye. If they’re as good as Ah’m hearin, there’s at least five local dealers that will be interested in takin a load on the regular, already been puttin the feelers out. No tae mention these raves you can get us access too. Seven months. Seven months till ma bairn’s due then Ah’m out. If Ah keep ma heid doon between now and then, focus on makin money rather than gettin blitzed, Ah’ll be set up, an ready tae split.”

  “Ye might want tae think of cleanin some of that money in the meantime. Putting it through a business, anythin rich in cash. If you get captured, you want to be able to declare your earnings as something other than the obvious or they’ll take you to the cleaners. I mean seriously, how does a young guy with no source of income justify sitting on a wad of cash? Yer a clever guy, don’t make the same mistake so many stupid fuckers currently residing in her Majesty’s establishment have made.”

  Billy pulled a joint from his cardigan pocket, bit the end off and spat it on the ground as he toyed with the clipper between his fingers. “Maybe if Ah was plannin on hangin about. But 7 months, an am outae here. Need tae keep ma money where Ah can get at it immediately no tied up in fuckin businesses.”

  “Ok then.” Clark stood up and glanced over his shoulder to the hulking figure behind casting a large shadow against the illuminated concrete. “For now business continues, and increases. I’ll be in touch soon. I’ll leave you to enjoy that sky.”

  Billy lit the joint and let it hang between his lips as he gazed back out onto the water. There was another area of his existence that had been weighing heavily on him for too long. It was time to do something about it.

  48

  Billy walked into the living room to the sight of the old man hunched over the coffee table, gazing out the window through strained eyes. The living room hadn’t seen a single lick of paint since Billy was young, felt like it was frozen in a time he would rather forget. Still the same peeling nicotine-stained cream wallpaper. Still the same horrible brown curtains with the intertwined flowers winding their way up to the ceiling, looking like they could spiral on forever. Just like the tired old house was crying out for a change so was Mum, Billy thought to himself.

  Jack was clutching hold of a brandy like his life depended on it. His back looked more arched than ever, no doubt weighed down by the pressures his hard labouring trade was placing on his aging bones.

  Billy wondered if that twisted old spine was equally weighed down by the bitter, cruel nature that had probably sucked all the marrow out of it by now. He might have been in his late forties but Jack wore the look of a tired, miserable old man now. The zigzagged stress lines were etched even deeper into his forehead, creating a permanent frown, with a layer of fur-like grey hair that had settled all over his torn face, along with various second prizes, scars that he had earned over the years when finding that some folk weren’t as easily bullied as his wife. Billy did wonder whether he felt any regret, guilt or remorse over the way he had treated his family. He wondered whether the memories kept him up at night.

  “What you wantin?” said Jack, a look of increasing discomfort on his face with every step Billy took towards him. Maybe the memories really did haunt the bastard. He squirmed in his chair and picked up his brandy with a shaking hand as Billy sat down.

  They sat there, in silence, for what felt like an age, soaking in the uncomfortable reminiscence of it all. Just as Billy felt it creeping up his body hairs and threatening to choke him, he forced himself to speak, pulling at his collar as he felt a tight squeeze. “Disturb ye did Ah? Look like yer havin a great old time, sittin here on yer own, starin oot the windae. Some life eh?” Billy smiled.

  “Aw aye an what’s so fuckin rosy about your life? Eh? Never worked a day. Expelled fae two schools. Dealin drugs now. Bloody waster that’s all ye are. A waster.”

  Billy looked his Dad square in the eye. “Least I’ve made somethin ay masel. Might no be much but it’s somethin. Ah’m someone. People ken me, people respect me. You, on the other hand...” Billy looked him up and down with disdain. “What's your legacy? Eh? Sittin here on yer ain. Nae real pals, a wife that’s fuckin feared ay ye. That ye’ve reduced tae nothin but a nervous wreck, a fuckin zombie, scared tae have an opinion on anythin.”

  Jack shook his head as he drained the rest of his brandy. “Made somethin of yersel? A bloody drug dealer? Let me tell you son, you’re on borrowed time. The enemies you’ve made?” Jack sniggered to himself. “An now the boy’s gonnae be a father umself eh? Ye think ye’ve got it in ye dae ye? Think yer ready fer it? No bloody chance.”

  “Be a better father than you anyway.”

  “Aye we’ll see. Ye wantae come round here an try an gloat because Ah skelped ye aboot when ye were a bairn?” He sat forward in his chair and looked Billy square in the eye for the first time. “That’s what happens son. That’s what happened tae me. That’s what happened tae yer Grandad tae. It’s called teachin manners, respect. Fat lot ay bloody good it did. Might as well have let ye run wild. All you bams runnin aboot stabbin an slashin each other. In ma day ye used these!” Jack clenched his fists, his eyes widening.

  “Funny that. See fae what Ah can remember you used a stick on me. Big long one wae a sharp end. Used tae huv tae pick the splinters oot ma shoulders in the mornin before Ah went tae school. Here, look.”

  Billy pulled his jumper down over his shoulder and pushed it toward his father, who recoiled in his seat, back within his shell, clearly finding it difficult to witness his handiwork.

  “Still got the scars. Wantae see them naw? Discipline’s one thing, Ah used tae take a leatherin fer breathin, fer darin tae exist.” Billy shook his head. “Then there was that belt buckle. Can mind one time ye hit me so hard wae that ma wee heid was still spinnin in the mornin. Sure ye’d use yer hands fae time tae time tae. But the way ye set aboot me wae those fists ye wouldae thought Ah was a grown man. Nothin tae say now naw?”

  Jack let out a deep groan before pouring himself another brandy.

  “Well ye ken somethin? Dad? Ye did do me a favour. You made me fuckin fearless. Scared ay nae cunt. Took all that abuse fer all those years, sucked it up an still standin. LOOK!!”

  He stood up with outstretched arms and watched his father shrink even further into his seat. “Still fuckin standin! Walkin tall! An look at you, eh? Just a miserable wee man. Drinkin yer nights away. Who came oot better? Yo
u tell me!”

  Jack sat forward and rubbed at his tired looking eyes. “What ur ye wantin? Must be a reason why yer here.”

  “Where’s Mum?”

  “She’s away oot.”

  Billy pulled the envelope out of his jeans pocket and dropped it on the coffee table, before sitting down again. “Open it.”

  Jack picked it up and opened it before looking back at Billy. “This some kind of joke?”

  “Ten grand in there.”

  Jack dropped the envelope on the table and gave his head a shake.

  “Ah did come here lookin fer Mum. Was gonnae try an tempt her intae goin away. Somewhere far away fae you. But thinkin about it now, there’s not a hope in hell. Too fuckin scared in’t she? So what Ah’m askin you tae dae is - go through yer room. Pack a bag. Go tae the train station, or the airport. And go as far away fae here as possible. On me. On yer only fucking son, ma treat. This is your chance tae escape this life that makes you so fuckin miserable, along with everyone around ye.”

  Billy sat forward and pointed a finger in his old man’s face. “An Ah don’t want you tae have any part in your gran-kid’s life. An Ah don't want you tae have anything tae dae wae Mum. Anymair. Ye hear me?”

  Jack smiled as he shook his head in clear disbelief. “What, you think Ah’m gonnae take orders fae you dae ye? That I’ll just up an leave like that? Who would support yer Mum, eh? You?”

  “Aye fuckin me. Ah make mair in a week than you make in a month shovellin bricks and boulders.”

  “So you’re gonnae pay yer Mother’s rent, and support a kid, all on drug money? You live in cloud bloody cuckoo land son. Soon yer gonnae touch doon wae a bang, mark my words.”

  “Awrite.” Billy had been waiting for this moment. He pulled the stick out of his back tail and slammed it down on the table. He wasn’t sure why he had kept it all these years, having retrieved it before moving out. A memento of youth. Perhaps he had kept it as a reminder of where and what he had come from. A symbol of what he never, ever wanted to return to. Never again would he be bullied or belittled.